


The Care and Keeping of Injured Birds

by overratedantihero



Category: Grayson (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Abduction, Canon Typical Violence, Dick gets hurt, Healing, Injury, M/M, Midnighter and Apollo intervene, Recuperating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12055692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Midnighter finds an injured bird in a Gotham alley, Apollo agrees that they should keep it until it heals.[Holy Wonderful Readers Batman, this fic officially has fanart courtesy of the very talented stormykage. Check it! https://stormykage.tumblr.com/post/171271692345/disclaimer-these-are-fan-art-for-dcdork-s ]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where I'm going with this, and I'm open to suggestions.

Nightwing lurched forward, shoulders hunched and teeth grit. His left leg trembled and his right leg dragged, the black of his suit disguising how much blood was soaking through. The black of the Gotham night disguised the smears left in his wake. His stomach lurched and he braced himself against the grimy alley wall while the waves of nausea passed. 

The shattered lenses in his mask weren't helping his vertigo. He wanted to rip the mask off entirely, but he couldn't do that now. Not when he was already so vulnerable. If his shattered com were still online, Alfred or Barbara or Bruce would be telling him to assess his damage, locate a safe house, and hunker down while help came. But he was offline, and if he thought too hard about what all hurt he worried he'd collapse. He was too disoriented to find a safe house, and there would be no help. 

Nightwing took a shuddering, rattling breath and pushed off from the wall. He would get through this. He was used to flying without a net. 

A swirling orange portal appeared in a perfect rectangle, proving too much for Nightwing’s tenuous control over his pain induced stomach ache. Nightwing clutched his gut and wretched even as a familiar figure cloaked in leather stepped out, almost stepping into Nightwing's sick. 

"Jesus, Grayson. I was going to ask if you missed me, but even I can take a hint," Midnighter grinned toothily. Dick looked up, tears welling from the strain on his body. Still, Dick was of enough mind to reach out and grab hold of Midnighter's duster although his grip was weak. Dick could fly without a net, but he also didn’t want to become a Gotham City alley statistic. Midnighter's smile slid away. 

"Alright, Kid. Take it easy. I'm going to stick you with something, alright? I need you to relax while I do. You’re so torn up I doubt you'll even feel it." 

Dick tried to shove away, but he ended up falling forward instead. Midnighter caught him before he hit the sullied ground and Nightwing kicked uselessly. His leg oozed blood sluggishly and the awkward angle only accentuated the swelling.

"Whoa, did I stutter, Kid? I need you to relax. It's going to be Morphine-Midazolam. Just enough to take the edge off so I can move you out of this alley. We're nemesisters, remember? I'm not going to hurt you until you're healed enough to take it."

Dick nodded into Midnighter's chest. He took a heaving breath and fought every survival instinct that Bruce had instilled in him so that he could let his sometimes-adversary administer medical attention. Midnighter was right, Dick didn't even feel the needle entering his skin. 

Dick sighed as the pain began to ease and his vision began to blur.

"How?" Dick asked, blearily glancing up at his apparent savior. "Here?" Full sentences were hard, too hard. Midnighter seemed to understand anyway. 

"How I found you here?" Midnighter clarified as he gently scooped Dick into his arms. Even with the injection and Midnighter’s care, Dick flinched. "The Bat isn't the only one with toys, kiddo." 

Dick muttered something unintelligible even to himself as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He closed his eyes and when he opened them his surroundings had melted from the grimy alley to a tastefully decorated, but minimalist living room. 

"I don't?" Dick muttered, his tongue thick. The effort it took to move his jaw became too much and he went limp instead. 

“You handled that Door trip better than the first time,” Midnighter commended. “But it’s always better after the first time, isn’t it?”

Dick grunted. At least Dick thought he grunted. He meant to grunt. He was losing touch with his extremities, and his hold over his throat was loose.

"M, what did I tell you about bodies in my living room?" A new voice said, too loudly for the headache blooming within Dick’s skull. Dick couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, but he felt heat emanate where it hadn't before around the same time he heard the padding of footsteps. “You’re worse than a cat,” the voice chided.

"Apollo,” Midnighter cooed, voice warmer than Dick had ever heard it. “This one's still kicking, babe," Midnighter promised. "Think of him less as a dead mouse, more of an injured baby bird."

"A...dult. Bird," Dick sighed without opening his eyes. "Grown." 

"See, sweetheart? He’s only mostly dead. Go to sleep, grown baby bird," Midnighter chided. His voice sounded distant, mutated. Dick tried to cling to the syllables long enough to decipher meaning, but they slipped from his grasp. 

 "Nnh," Dick grunted before his head lolled and he succumbed to the pressing haze.

"What did this to him?" Apollo asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Midnighter held Dick out expectantly and Apollo strode closer to gingerly take the limp Bat from Midnighter’s arms. Midnighter shrugged off his duster and laid out on the couch so that Apollo could lay the boy down without having to bleach their furniture for a third time that week. After Apollo set him down, he propped Dick’s feet on a pillow, “for the nausea.”

Midnighter shrugged. "Don't know, didn't ask. One of the Bats hacked my god-tech com link to warn me that Grayson disappeared while getting his shapely ass handed to him. Found him bleeding out in an alley. I think the Door made him vomit." 

Apollo's eyes softened as he looked at Dick. "Poor thing. He should stay here until he's healed. There's no safer place."

Midnighter snorted. “What happened to ‘no more bodies,’” He asked, pulling his cowl off so that Apollo could feel the full force of his raised eyebrows. "Are you sure you want to play adopt-a-twink?" Midnighter asked, eyebrows raised. Apollo scoffed.

"It's more like fostering a twink, really," Apollo muttered. “And it’s like you said. He’s not a dead mouse, he’s an injured bird.”

“We could just patch him up and leave him at Daddy Bat’s doorstep. I’m sure they’d be grateful,” Midnighter offered.

Apollo shook his head. “We don’t know what did this, but whatever it was knew how to isolate him from the rest of his team. The others may not be safe either. We also don’t know how deep his wounds are- it may be near impossible to move him without worsening his condition.”

“You just think he’s pretty,” Midnighter teased. Apollo rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and huffed, but Midnighter slid an arm around Apollo’s waist and pulled him close. Apollo immediately melted into his embrace and Midnighter murmured, “It’s okay. I do too. We can keep him for a few days.”

Apollo hummed and began the arduous process of undoing the clasps on Midnighter’s gratuitous chest armor. “Good. But you can’t adopt him like you did that cybernetic dog. He was cute and relatable, but he barked.”

“Oh, Grayson definitely barks,” Midnighter chuckled. “He’ll talk your fucking ear off, and then carry on prattling to the bloody stump.”

“We don’t need him for that, we have you,” Apollo cooed sweetly.

“You always know how to sweet talk me,” Midnighter growled, nipping Apollo’s lip. Apollo playfully squeezed Midnighter’s ass, but pulled away from Midnighter’s lips.

“We need to patch him up first,” Apollo reminded Midnighter. “Set his wounds, stem any bleeding, and clean him up. While he’s out cold and won’t feel anything.”

Midnighter sighed but released Apollo. He shrugged off the armor that Apollo managed to undo, dumping the pieces on the coffee table to Apollo’s protests, before fetching their robust first aid kit from the master bathroom.

When he returned, Apollo had already undressed Dick down to his briefs and was in process of pinpointing the most concerning wounds among a sea of contusions and lacerations. A bullet wound sluggishly bled on his right calf while Apollo kept the tatters of Dick’s uniform against what was presumably another wound on his stomach.

“He’s going to be pissing blood,” Midnighter noted, checking out Dick’s mottled skin from where it began on his ribs to where it disappeared under his body.

“Yes. It’s from blunt trauma, though. It should heal without surgery,” Apollo murmured. “He also definitely has fractured ribs. We’ll need to come up with a medication regimen. Past that, the bullet in his leg went through the calf. I’m going to let it drain some and then sterilize and dress it.”  

Midnighter popped open the hefty first aid kit and began pulling out alcohol and gauze. Apollo moved the fabric away from Dick’s stomach, and Midnighter saw the gaping slash.

“Deathstroke?” he asked, passing Apollo absorbent pads, alcohol, and stitching material. Apollo shrugged.

“It’s possible. You know more about him than I do.” Apollo set to work immediately, and Midnighter made himself useful on Dick’s leg.

“Deathstroke, then. The two have a thing for each other.”

Apollo snorted. “What's that about little boys and pigtails?”

After that, they worked in silence, focusing their efforts on the more severe wounds before wrapping ice packs around some of the swelling and bruising. Afterwards, Midnighter took a warm, damp cloth and fragrance free, antibacterial soap and scrubbed the kid down. Once Dick was mostly bandaged and cleaned, Apollo gingerly carried him to the guest bedroom while Midnighter collected his uniform and stored it away properly.

By the time Apollo returned to their bedroom, Midnighter was in the shower. Apollo joined him, to scrub the scent of blood and alcohol from his skin.

“I set up a fluid IV,” Apollo said, beginning on his hair. “He should be good for the evening. We should keep him on heavy duty pain medication for a while. Do we at least tell his family where he is?”

“Sure. If we want the entirety of Gotham knocking on our doorstep,” Midnighter said, running his fingers through Apollo’s hair while Apollo rinsed out the shampoo. “We can tell his family who he’s with, and let them know he’s safe. But that’s as far as I’d go with it.” Midnighter took the liberty of massaging conditioner in Apollo’s hair.

“Should we be worried that he won’t stay still while he heals?” Apollo asked, damn well knowing the answer. Midnighter huffed.

“As stubborn as Grayson is, not even he can cause much trouble as gashed and shot through as he is,” Midnighter insisted, even as countless possibilities flashed through his mind in which Dick caused lots of trouble.  After a moment of Apollo smirking and Midnighter chewing his lip, Midnighter amended, “We’ll Dick-proof the house.”

“Oh, I hope we won’t,” Apollo quipped, and Midnighter bit his ear punitively.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick dreams.

Dick faded in and out, images flashing past his vision at a pace that seemed both sluggish and lightning fast. Swirling nightmares left him twitching and jerking, up until paralysis took his limbs and he felt caught, like an insect in amber. After what could have been hours or what could have been days, Dick began to notice consistencies in his visions.

He was on a beach, with Koriand’r. Her hair was wild, the tips flaming well past her waist as she cocked her head at him. Her glowing green eyes were glassy with confusion. Dick could hear himself pleading with her, but he wasn’t quite sure why.

“I’m sorry,” she said, with a shrug. “I don’t know who you are.”

“Kori, it’s me,” Dick said, his voice warbling as he were speaking through the sea water. “You know me.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, turning away. “But I don’t.”

Dick stepped after her, but a glowing figure materialized over the foaming waves. He turned to the figure, who hovered just above the glittering water, and thought to reach out to it. But then the ground fell out from beneath him. Suddenly he was on his hands and knees on bare ground, nausea roiling his stomach. He grasped the damp grass between his fingers as voices filtered through his shock.

“… so sad.”

“Young, to be an orphan.”

“They’re saying it was the mob.”

“It’s a shame,” Bruce’s voice cut through the static, and Dick looked up so quickly that the movement almost made him sick. Across the field, with a red and white striped circus tent as his backdrop, Bruce Wayne stood next to Alfred. A steady drizzle of rain soaked into Dick’s clothes, but his spectators remained dry. Both men shook their heads while they watched Dick.

“Bruce,” Dick said. “Bruce, what--”

“We should be going, sir,” Alfred offered. “There’s nothing we can do here.”

To Dick’s horror, Bruce nodded and turned. Dick watched both men leave, a scream building. Before the scream could rip free, a glove hand gripped his throat roughly. The hand tightened and raised Dick up from the ground while Dick kicked uselessly. His feet tore up the grass until he was so high up that there was nothing to kick but air. He writhed and whined, but the hand was unrelenting. His eyes traveled up the arm, across the broad shoulders, and to the glinting red helmet.

“Jay?” Dick choked out.

“Sorry, Dickiebird,” the helmet said. “It’s better this way.”

Dick felt his vision blur at the edges. Behind Jason, a glow cut through the haze. The same glow he saw over the water, when he was with Kori.

“Who?” Dick croacked.

“You’re not funny, Dick,” Wally said, crossing his arms. Dick’s hands flew to his throat, but felt nothing. His feet were back on solid ground, and his friend stood in front of him. The rainy evening abruptly melted into what appeared to be an empty room. The walls, if there even were even walls, were white. The ground, the ceiling. White, white, white. Stark against the blankness of the space was Wally West, dressed in red. 

“Wally?” Dick asked. Wally rolled his eyes.

“You abandon me, you forget me, and you build a life without me, and now you want to make it into a joke? Fuck off, Dick.” Wally dropped his arms and then vibrated until he was a blur. “I could show you, you know. How it feels. You don’t know what it’s like to fly without a net until your existence is ripped away from you.”

Dick shook his head and backed away from Wally, not that it could do him much good. Wally began to zip around him in circles. Dick raised his arms to shield himself as wind picked up around him. Wally became a tornado of electricity and movement around him.  

“This is pathetic,” a new voice cut through the crackling static electricity.

“Slade?” Dick asked. Steel glinted (from what light, Dick wasn’t sure) as Slade swung one of his swords. The wind calmed and the static ceased. Wally crumpled to the ground, a pool of blood gathering beneath him. Dick stepped back.

“You didn’t- why did you do that?!" He shouted as Deathstroke knelt, wiped his sword clean against Wally’s splayed leg before sheathing it. He rose and tugged his mask away so that Dick could feel the full force of his glare.

“You’re dreaming, Grayson,” Slade supplied. He tucked the mask into his belt and crossed his arms. “With all of Daddy’s training, I’d expect better from you.”

Slade was right. Dick was dreaming. Dick wracked his brain, trying to grasp onto why Slade was right, but every time clarity seeped through, it slipped away just as quickly. Dick lifted his arms, pointed his body away from Wally’s tangle of limbs, and did a handstand.

“What are you doing?” Slade asked, kicking Wally’s outstretched arm out of his way as he prowled closer to Dick.

“Thinking,” Dick said. He spread his legs into a split while he tried to recount the last several hours, or at least the hours before his reality became this swirl of nightmarish scenes. He scrunched his face in his effort to recount past the haze of images and doubts and— “You!” he shouted.

He eased out of the handstand before striding over to Slade and punching him square in the jaw. Slade twitched but was otherwise unfazed. Dick frowned and punched Slade in the stomach. Slade cocked an eyebrow. With a growl of frustration, Dick stepped back and kicked Slade square in the chest. Slade grunted.

“Fuck you!” Dick spat. “You did this! You stabbed me! Like, really, genuinely stabbed me!"

“Non-lethally,” Slade offered. “You were interrupting a contract. I was trying to put you out of commission so you’d miss the fire fight.”

“Yes, well. You didn’t,” Dick said, sourly. He plopped onto the ground and sat cross legged. As he became more alert, Wally’s body became blurry and unfocused. Slade remained in sharp relief as he procured a chair, presumably from subspace. He sat and pulled a rag from his belt. While Dick watched, Slade unsheathed his sword again and began oiling it with earnest.

“I want a chair too. Get me a chair,” Dick commanded. Slade snorted.

“It’s your subconscious. I’m not real,” Slade reminded him. “Get your own fucking chair.”

Dick squinted and tried, but nothing came of his efforts but a headache. “I can’t,” he said.

“Yeah, morphine will do that to you,” Slade said. Dick scrunched up his nose.

“How do I know this is morphine?” He asked Slade. Slade began whistling, which wasn’t doing Dick’s headache any favors. Dick watched as Slade stroke the rag across the blade methodically, mechanically. While Dick watched, Slade’s glove flickered from orange to black, and then back again. When Dick glanced back to Slade’s face, Slade briefly wore a black duster before it disappeared again.

“Oh,” Dick said. “M. That’s you, isn’t it, M?”

Slade chuckled. “World’s second greatest detective,” he offered. He looked up and Dick met his gaze. “But remember, I’m not real. I’m a byproduct of your drug addled brain trying to rationalize your subconscious. Your subconscious is pretty fucked to have me in it, kid.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who beats up on kids a third your age,” Dick said, petulantly. "So. You're one to talk." Slade shrugged and went back to his sword.

“You’re hardly a kid, Grayson. I know I called you one, but you haven’t gotten to be a kid in a very long time. People like us, we don’t get childhoods.”

“I’m not like you,” Dick asserted. Slade rolled his eyes.

Dick felt heat, emanating from his left. He glanced over and then scrambled to his feet.

“You!” he said, to the white-haired man who hovered nearby. Dick briefly spared Slade a glance, but Slade wasn’t paying attention to the apparition.

“I think he’s waking up,” the glowing, heat emanating, muscular behemoth said. “Have a trash can nearby, he may vomit.”

“What?” Dick began, but then suddenly, violently, nauseatingly, he jolted awake.

His head ached, far worse than it did in his various dreams, and his body felt weak and numb. He tried to lift his hand to his temple, but he gave up and let his arm drop back down, wincing when he realized there was an IV needle protruding from that hand. “Where am I?” he asked, slurring the words so that they sounded like, “Where’m?”

“My apartment,” M said from beside the bed. Dick craned his neck to glance at him. He didn’t have his cowl on, and his red hair was wet and smelled like shampoo. As a matter of fact, M wasn’t wearing any of his costume. He was dressed in a pair of thin pajama pants, no shirt. Dick had seen the man in nothing but a towel, but somehow pajama pants looked so unbelievably intimate.

“Why?” Dick croaked. Midnighter offered a water bottle with a straw, and Dick leaned forward and drank from it greedily.

“You were hurt,” another voice supplied from the doorway. Still drinking, Dick glanced over to see the same white haired man from his dreams. Except he was wearing a muscle shirt and boxers, and he wasn’t glowing. Dick whined in confusion, releasing the straw.

“Someone fucked you up bad, Grayson,” Midnighter said, jaw tight. “Tell me who and I’ll rearrange their organs.”

“Bruce,” Dick groaned. Both men shared quick glances.

“Bruce did this?” Midnighter said, an actual growl building in his throat.

“No!” Dick said, the pitch of his own voice causing him to flinch. “Need to talk to Bruce. Bruce... need to tell him...”

“Sh, sh, sh,” Apollo hushed, striding over and gently pressing against Dick’s shoulder. Dick hadn’t even realized he’d begun sitting up until he felt Apollo urge him back down.

“You need to stay and heal. You’re a little better off than ground beef right now,” Midnighter said. “We got a message to Daddy Bats, letting him know you’re safe. He’s tearing shit up trying to find you, but I’m not into throwing puppies to wolves.”

“Notta puppy,” Dick muttered, fatigue tempering his annoyance.

“Right now, you might as well be. You’re no use to Gotham dead. Stay and heal.”

Dick scrunched his brow, and whined again. “Gotta,” he paused to rest. “Gotta make sure. Others are safe.”

“They are,” Apollo insisted. “Rest is important, and you'll need it if you want to go back out anytime soon.”

“Take it easy, heal, learn a hobby,” Midnighter offered. “Apollo has several. He can teach you to crochet or something. You need an outlet besides dressing up in fetish gear and punching cosplayers.”

Dick shot him a glare. “Says you.”

Midnighter grinned toothily. “I thought you’d figured out by now that we’re not cut from the same cloth, kid.”

Dick wanted to argue. Dick wanted to go home, to the Manor or to Bludhaven. Dick wanted to check and make sure his loved ones really hadn’t forgotten about him like his nightmares suggested. But he was so tired, and Apollo’s hand felt so nice against his forehead. And so he closed his eyes and let himself swim.

Sometime, while Dick hovered between sleep and wakefulness, Midnighter excused himself, leaving Dick alone with Apollo. While Apollo stroked his hair and checked his IV, Dick scrunched up his eyebrows and forced himself to lucidity so that he could ask—

“Why?”

Apollo paused and glanced down at Dick. “Because whether he wants to admit it or not, you and him are very much cut from the same cloth.”

With that over extended metaphor, Dick succumbed again to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's family worries, Midnighter exercises his communication skills.

Slade picked at the dried blood that flaked on the stone. He was in an alleyway off one of the seedier streets of Gotham- the blood could be anyone’s. But “anyone” was shedding enough blood that they wouldn’t have made it far, and Slade had already scoured the neighborhood. At the risk of presumption, Slade would bet his most recent commission that this was Dick Grayson’s blood.

He drew his hand away and stepped to the side as a batarang sliced through the air and embedded in the wall, right where his fingers had been. Slade sighed and leaned his head back, glaring up at the sky, before tilting his face to the left so that he could confront whichever Bat Brat was interrupting his evening. His irritation shifted to interest as he raked his eyes over the red helmet and biker jacket.

“Did you come back to gloat? Or are you just making sure you finished the job?” Jason growled. He crossed his arms, jacket riding up enough to highlight the guns clinging to either hip. “Where the fuck is Nightwing, Deathstroke?”

“Funny. I was going to ask you,” Slade said, turning fully towards Jason. “I just assumed the Bat microchipped all of his pets.”

At that, Jason actually growled and drew one of his guns. “You were the last to see him as far as any of us are aware. Spill, or I’ll match your ex-wife’s handiwork.”

“You welcome a man into your home, you let him train your daughter, and you even occasionally do business with him—and then he gossips about your family. With his own family’s reject, nonetheless,” Slade reached up and pulled away the mask so that Jason would feel the weight of his gaze. “Go ahead. I don’t know where Grayson is. He and I tangled, and I painted him red, but I didn’t kill him. If I did, you’d have a body or a contract to trace him by.”

Slade couldn’t see Jason’s expression through the helmet, but Jason did shift his grip on his gun.

“Why?” Jason spat. “Why’d you two fight?”

Slade rolled his eye. “He tried to interrupt a contract. I didn’t need or want him there to complicate an already complicated situation, so I punched him around. I ran him through a little when he still wouldn’t quit.”

Immediately Jason’s finger ghosted over the trigger.

“Relax. Outside of an obscenely expensive contract, I have no urge to kill Grayson. The lick I gave him with my sword was preventative. The brat didn’t listen, and he ended up eating lead when my target arrived. By the time I completed my contract, Grayson was gone. Evidently, he disappeared.”

When Slade finished, there were several long moments of silence as Jason tilted his head and watched Slade. Presumably, Jason may have been listening to his network. Just when Slade was growing bored, Jason dropped his arm, holstered his gun, and tugged off his helmet… revealing a domino mask. Typical bat.

“His commlink went offline while he was fighting you,” Jason said, running his gauntleted hand through his helmet mussed hair. A nervous tick. “The entire capes and cowl crowd in Gotham have been sweeping the city. It’s like he fucking disappeared off the face of the Earth. Even Big Blue’s been at it.”

Slade raised an eyebrow. “If that’s the case, I’m surprised to see you instead of Robin. I’d assume the Bat’s black sheep has a criminal underground to concern himself over more so than a lost bird.”

Jason scowled. “I run a tight ship. Nightwing’s absence isn’t going to start shit. And Robin’s been benched until he learns to chill the fuck out.”

“You’re giving me a lot of information,” Slade warned. “You may want to tread lightly.”

Jason shook his head. “You wouldn’t still be in town if you weren’t looking too,” Jason accused. He gestured towards the wall. “That Nightwing’s?”

Slade shrugged. “Probably. Where’s the Bat?”

“Around,” Jason said, flippantly. “He’s anticipating a body. He’s made a habit out of burying his sons.” Jason’s face didn’t change, but his voice grew tight, and he turned his head very slightly away. Slade smirked before tugging his mask back over his head.

“Let me know if you find him,” Slade said. “I’d like to have a private word with him, remind him of his manners.”

As Slade walked away, Jason called after him, “Batman’s tearing up the city, Slade. He’ll come after you if he hears you talking shit like that.”

“Let him! I’m not afraid of the Big Bad Bat,” Slade threw over his shoulder.

* * *

 

When Jason returned to the Cave, he was met only by Tim, who’s dark circles has grown so deep he looked near death. Jason knew he hadn’t slept in days; Tim had taken up monitoring their various channels nearly 24/7 as he strained for even so much as a hint of Nightwing. Every available counter space was littered with coffee mugs, disposable cups, and energy drink cans. An untouched dinner plate rested near Tim’s chair, no doubt Alfred trying to make sure at least some of the boy’s basic needs were met while the entire family focused their efforts on finding Dick.

“News?” Tim asked without so much as glancing at Jason. His eyes were glued to the monitors.

“Yeah, sort of,” Jason said, propping his motorcycle on the center stand and pulling his helmet off. “Talked to Deathstroke.”

Tim jerked away from the monitors, swiveling his chair to focus on Jason. “Yeah?” he asked, breathless. The hope in his eyes made Jason feel sick.

“No… no, don’t get too riled up. He doesn’t know where Nightwing is either. He and Nightwing fought, Nightwing got shot, and by the time Deathstroke went after him, Nightwing’d already disappeared,” Jason recounted even as Tim deflated.

“Okay. Okay, well. That’s something,” Tim murmured. “He was injured. Couldn’t have gone far without help.”

Jason hesitated only a moment before saying, “Well, no shit. We know he had help. We know he’s somewhere. You got that- that message, right? From…? Whoever. I think we should tell Bruce, he—”

“We don’t know what that was. I think we’re being taunted,” Tim said miserably, slumping a bit. “Whoever sent it is trying to distract us. I’m not doing it, and I’m not doing that to Bruce. Giving him hope and then….” Tim trailed off, clearly losing the will to finish his thought.

Jason shrugged. He wasn’t going to belabor the point. If Tim didn’t want to tell Batman about the note that appeared on the Batcomputer’s console (written in pen on a post-it note) then Jason wasn’t about to either. It wasn’t as if “Chill the fuck out, he’s fine,” scrawled in messy handwriting was the most comforting message regardless.

* * *

 

Apollo finished stringing his last origami crane. He gingerly tied the crane to the frame along with the several others. Once he finished, he lifted his little Pinterest project up by the center of the frame so that the exactly 51 paper cranes cascaded down in perfect formation.

Midnighter glanced up when Apollo made a self-satisfied grunt. “Very nice,” Midnighter said before glancing back down at his phone. Apollo patted Midnighter’s legs where they were propped on Apollo’s lap.

“Thank you. I was thinking about putting it in Dick’s room,” Apollo confessed, tapping one of the blue cranes, causing it to sway. Midnighter snorted.

“You made him a mobile,” Midnighter said. “You know we can’t actually adopt him, the kid’s like 22.”

“22-year-olds can appreciate well-made paper crane mobiles,” Apollo retorted. He set the mobile down on the coffee table and stretched. Midnighter curled his legs close to himself so that Apollo could stand out from under them. “You should let me teach you origami sometime,” Apollo offered as he disappeared into the kitchen. Midnighter grunted noncommittally. When Apollo reappeared, it was with two beers in tow.

“This is why you’re my favorite,” Midnighter said, as he set his phone aside and made grabby hands for the beer. Apollo began to hand him the bottle, but then paused just out of reach.

“You did tell the Bats that we had Dick, right?” Apollo asked. Midnighter rolled his eyes.

“Of course I did. I left them a note.”

Satisfied, Apollo passed him the beer before resettling on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a tiny aside chapter. I don't want anyone to worry that poor Dick's been forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick wakes up, more so than he has before. M runs a necessary errand.

When Dick woke up again, his bones felt leaded and he spent minutes grappling meaning out of the fog that clung to his mind even as nightmarish images dissipated. Memories trickled through the haze and he pried his eyes open as scenes fit themselves together like pieces in a puzzle.

Deathstroke, gun, fists, sword, Midnighter. Not necessarily in that order.

Dick groaned and tried to stir, but moving was so, so hard. He lifted his arm to rub at his eyes and felt the tug of a needle in his vein.

IV. Sluggish.

He reached for the tape across the inside of his arm, and a hand shot out to grab his wrist. Dick squeaked in surprise, looking up so quickly that it made his head swim. Midnighter’s face (his actual face, not the cowl) hovered inches from Dick’s.

“I can rip off every one of your fingers without you even feeling it. Don’t try it,” M warned, his voice low and threatening. Dick flinched. Dick’s body twitched as muscle memory begged a punch or a kick or even a defensive gesture. Unable to fight, Dick instead wriggled, if only to try to regain feeling in his limbs enough to rip his wrist from M’s grip.

“Kid, stop that,” M chided, releasing his wrist. “You’re going to hurt yourself. You’re coming down from a morphine cocktail, and you’ve got stitches.”

Dick stilled, but he remained tense. “Alfred?” He asked, his tongue thick in his mouth. He smacked his lips a few times, and M offered a water bottle. Dick tried to accept it, but the weight and condensation caused it to slip through his fingers. Midnighter caught the bottle and popped the cap open for Dick. Dick opened his mouth, and Midnighter carefully tilted the bottle until water just barely began to trickle down Dick’s throat.

The water was so cold against his parched throat, and Dick moaned. He wrapped his lips around the mouth of the bottle and drank greedily until the plastic crinkled from being sucked dry. Midnighter tossed the empty bottle into a nearby trashcan before flashing Dick a grin.

“If I’d known a little water could get you to make those kinds of noises, I’d have brought you a fountain,” Midnighter joked. Feeling a little better, a little more lucid, Dick rolled his eyes.

“Where am I?” Dick asked, wriggling so that he could sit up. He was in a bedroom of sorts, but the walls were bare. A door on the far wall led to what must have been a bathroom whereas a door on the adjacent wall was slightly ajar, letting light spill into the otherwise dimmed room.

“My apartment,” M said, adjusting one of Dick’s pillows so that it better supported his lower back. Dick furrowed his eyebrows.

“No,” he said. “Alfred. Alfred did my stitches. He’s always done my stitches.” Dick closed his eyes, recalling the very first time he sliced his arm open after his parents died- not while on patrol with Bruce, but while swinging down one of the staircases in the Manor. He’d gone to Alfred, teary eyed and ashamed, and Alfred had patched him up without batting an eye. But when Dick tried to remember what happened after he’d stumbled away from Deathstroke, all he could recall was heat, heat, heat.

“Apollo stitched you up,” Midnighter said, slowly, as if talking to a child. Dick opened his eyes and furrowed his brows

“Does the family know where I am?” Dick asked, clenching the sheets as tightly as he could while feeling like his insides were made of gelatin.

“I told them you were safe,” Midnighter offered. Dick blinked.

“You’re keeping me captive,” Dick said. It wasn’t a question. Midnighter recoiled.

“Kid, _no_ ,” M insisted. “Jesus. I found you on your merry way to dead in a Gotham alleyway, didn’t know what happened, didn’t know why. I was trying to keep you from bleeding out. I didn’t drop you off at the Bat’s doorstep because we finally got you stable and I wasn’t about to fuck it up. You’re free to go, after you’re healed up enough to at least throw a solid punch.”

Dick blinked at him and released the sheets to ball his right hand into a loose fist. He swung it back to punch Midnighter, but gave up halfway to Midnighter’s face and instead just rested his knuckles against Midnighter’s jaw.

“Bam,” Dick supplied. M rolled his eyes.

“My point exactly.”

Dick dropped his hand against the sheets and sighed. “If you told them where I was they’d be here by now.” He paused, and furrowed his brows. “How long have I been here?”

“Five days,” Midnighter said while Dick’s jaw dropped. He tried to sit up, but searing pain broke through the muddled haze that had otherwise befallen his body and he dropped back down on the bed with a squawk.

“What are you doing? Don’t do that,” M admonished. “Shit, Grayson, you’re human. Make better choices.”

Dick waited until the pain subsided to mutter, “ _You_ make better choices. This is, like, the second time you’ve abducted me. Except this time, I’m not publicly dead and half the capes are probably out looking for me.”

Midnighter raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

Dick jutted his chin and opened his mouth to retort, but a new voice cut through, startling Dick so terribly he almost flinched- almost.

“M, don’t tease him. You know you’ve already won.”

Dick traced the source of the voice to a blond man with broad shoulders, leaning against the doorframe. Dick could have sworn the man was glowing, but then again, Dick was high on opiates so he couldn’t be sure.

“I’m being held captive,” Dick repeated. “I’m being held captive by a leather fetishist and his radioactive companion.”

“Solar-powered,” Apollo helpfully corrected. “Not radioactive. Just sunny.”

Dick blinked at Apollo and then chuckled once, sharply. And then again. And then he was giggling so much that he tried to curl in on himself only to forcefully throw himself back when his sides and stomach screamed. Apollo and Midnighter traded a glance.

“Kid, you okay?” Midnighter asked, checking Dick’s IV solution.

“I get it,” Dick snickered, “You’re all midnight and dark and dreary and he’s all sunshine and glowy and I bet he wears white and doesn’t murder.”

“Oh, no, Apollo knows his way around casualties. He’s just neater about it,” Midnighter said, relinquishing the IV once he was satisfied that Dick’s dosage was right.

Dick stopped laughing abruptly. “Don’t _kill_ people, that’s rude,” he admonished Apollo. “You’re like a Robin, it’s our job to keep them straight.”

“I’m not a Robin, little bird,” Apollo murmured.

“And no one’s keeping straight in this house,” Midnighter quipped.

“Not a little bird,” Dick insisted through a yawn. “I’m Nightwing.” He bared his teeth for emphasis. His ferocity left him when Apollo strode over, the box full of crackers in his hand suddenly becoming apparent. Dick’s mouth watered, even though he wasn’t particularly hungry.

“Don’t sleep yet, blue bird,” Apollo said. “Do you want to try eating a little bit? We’ve been keeping you healthy through the IV, but it’s best we ease your stomach back into solid food as quickly as possible.”

Dick didn’t really hear anything after “eating.” He opened his mouth obediently and Midnighter snorted even as Apollo pulled a cracker from the box and placed it on Dick’s tongue. Dick slipped the cracker into his mouth with his tongue and chewed slowly, the movement in his jaw feeling foreign after so long. Swallowing also took more effort than he remembered, but no sooner than he did, Midnighter was nudging at his lips with a straw. Dick drank greedily, the water soothing his parch throat. He didn’t stop until Midnighter gently pried it away, the burn of which was soothed when Apollo offered Dick the entire box of crackers. Dick popped another one in his mouth.

“Gotta talk to Bruce,” Dick said, mouth full. The straw returned within reach, and Dick sucked water down until it was dragged away again. “Let him know Deathstroke’s- oh. Deathstroke’s probably out of town again by now.” Dick stopped, furrowing his brows.

“Grayson. I told you, I let them know you were safe. Relax, and eat your crackers.”

With a shake of his head, Dick returned the crackers to Apollo and sunk back into the pillows. Both Midnighter and Apollo pleaded with him to eat or drink a little more, but Dick appeared done for the moment, and so they left him to rest.

“He’s more lucid,” Apollo offered, voice lilted optimistically.

“He’s lucid enough to be home sick,” M muttered. “I’m going to run an errand. I’ll be back.”

Dick lay in the bed, wanting to curl in on himself but unable due to his aching sides and fairly fresh stitches. Midnighter said  that he told the family, but he didn’t say how. And besides, without evidence, Dick’s family wouldn’t _believe_ him. They’d- They’d search for Dick. They would. Wouldn’t they?

They’d accepted he was “dead” before. But then, Bruce had been in on it. Bruce had known better. Bruce wouldn’t leave him if there were unknowns—and Dick disappeared so quickly, he left a lot of unknowns.

Still. It had been almost a week. Against best practices, Dick trusted Midnighter. Midnighter had no reason to lie or withhold communications from his family. If they’d reached out, Midnighter would have told Dick. His family had experienced too many funerals to host one without a body.

* * *

 

Eventually, Dick’s troubled thoughts eased enough that he slipped into a warm, dreamless sleep. When he next stirred, he was alone, but the foreign bed smelled like home. His eyes shot open and he saw that his pillows had been replaced- by Manor pillows. Dick grinned and buried his nose into the fabric, inhaling deeply. Not just Manor pillows, these smelled like Damian.

There was a note, folded into a tent, on the bedside table. Dick opened it to see Midnighter’s messy scrawl:

_Too many damn rooms. Pulled pillows from the first one that looked inhabited. Nearly got shredded by that beast of a dog. Make requests, you’re not a captive._

Dick imagined Titus lunging at Midnighter on behalf of his absent master and chuckled. Maybe he should feel bad that he was laying on Damian’s stolen bedding, but he missed his Robin and the smell of home was soothing. He buried his face in the pillows as much as he could from where he was laying on his back and allowed himself to drift off again, this time dreaming of Alfred and warm pastries and loud homes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be abundantly clear that Dick's relationship with Damian in this fic is purely platonic, sibling love. He misses home, and I always imagine Dick and Damian as being the closest among the Batkids.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midnighter meets Jason. Dick improves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the confusing timeline. This chapter is essentially three parts, with the first part happening well before the last two. The separate parts are sectioned off by horizontal lines. Enjoy!

The search for Dick continued to be fruitless. All the Dark Knight’s horses and all the Dark Knight’s men couldn’t seem to find Dickiebird again. Jason had, for a while, stayed in the Bat Cave, occasionally hitting the streets to search the sectors that Tim and Bruce had carefully constructed by parsing Gotham, Bludhaven, and the surrounding suburbs into easily swept pieces. But Jason was tired, and he needed a walk that wasn’t a grimy ally in no-where New Jersey. Besides, he worried that if he hung around in the cave for much longer he’d have to watch Bruce erect Dick’s memorial. Jason imagined it would read same as his: “A good soldier.” The best soldier.

But Jason Todd had experienced a lifetime’s worth of “at the wrong place, at the wrong time” (arguably, two lifetimes) and it shouldn’t have surprised him that not even the isolated and begrudgingly soothing quiet of the manor hallways could protect him from symmetry.

While burning a hole in the aged carpeting, Jason heard the dull thumps of boots on hardwood floors that couldn’t possibly have come from the lithe gait of the Demon’s Head demon spawn. But the noises drifted from the direction of Damian’s room—the only occupied room in that direction—and Jason drew a gun from his right thigh holster, further armed with the certainty that Damian was still downstairs, showering after a particularly demoralizing patrol.

As Jason approached, the thumps were replaced with rustling, and Jason took to running. He slung the door open and aimed his gun at the intruder—but his aim faltered when he stumbled on an act of thievery that rivaled the bravado of Jason’s own infamous tire heist. Carried out by none other than Dick’s man in black.

“Midnighter?!” Jason hissed, lowering the gun. “What the _fuck_ , man!”

Midnighter hunched, dressed in his standard duster and cowl, over Damian’s bunched bedding, which he was shoving into a plastic garbage bag.

“The not-so-dead-one,” Midnighter greeted, still thrusting pillows and blankets into the sack. “You’re graying, have you considered box dye? Although with your daddy’s platinum, I’m sure you can spring for that nice salon shit.”

“It’s—Lazaraus—What the hell are you doing?” Jason demanded while M tied off the garbage bag, his task complete. “Robin is going to murder you, if I don’t first. Explain.” He put his hands on his hips and Midnighter just smirked.

“Building a nest for a lost little bird,” Midnighter cooed. Jason growled and lifted his gun again.

“You fucking bastard. Where is he? What’d you do to him?”

Midnighter sighed and tugged down his cowl so that he could give Jason the benefit of his fully leveled glare. “Kid, let me make this situation clear for you. I know what abilities you have. I know what moves you're preparing to make. I've fought our fight already in my head, in a million different ways. I can hit you without you even seeing me. I'm what soldiers dream of growing into. I'm what children see when they first imagine what death is like. I'm the Midnighter. Put the gun down, you can’t so much as touch me without my enthusiastic permission.”

While Midnighter droned, Jason considered how furious Bruce would be if Jason shot a gun in the manor. And then, still within the confines of Midnighter’s monologue, Jason decided he didn’t give a fuck. Without pausing long enough to allow Midnighter to catch his breath after his little speech, Jason pulled the trigger.

Midnighter dodged the bullet and slung his bag-o-bedding over his shoulder as the bullet embedded into the wall behind him. “Kid, what’d I just say? Good luck explaining that to daddy.”

“Stop… stop calling him that,” Jason muttered, emptying the clip just to make himself feel better. Even laden with the bag, Midnighter dodged each shot effortlessly and when the noise and gunpowder settled, the action hadn’t so much as affected his breathing.

“You done?” Midnighter asked. “Because I could go all day, but I’d rather go back home to my boyfriend and your brother.”

Jason tossed the gun and rushed him.

***

Damian did not think much of the popping he heard as he climbed the stairs of the manor to his bedroom post shower. His siblings and their associates were a rambunctious bunch, and Todd had disappeared upwards of an hour ago. Damian would not be surprised if he was doing something foolish.

Damian was, however, surprised to find Todd bound and gagged on Damian’s stripped mattress.

A note was taped to Todd’s chest. Undeterred by Todd’s scorching glare, Damian walked over and plucked the hastily scrawled message from his brother.

_The bluebird’s fine, he’s somewhere safe and recovering. Sorry bout your sheets, but the kid was homesick. Careful unwrapping this one, he’s having a moment._

“I hope your assailant didn’t waste all of my grappling rope on you, I needed that,” Damian spat at Jason, even as he pulled out his cell phone and made a call to the Bat Cave. Tim answered one first ring and Damian was quick to say, “We have a lead.” Damian hoped that Todd wouldn’t notice how his hand shook in relief.

* * *

 

“I want to try walking,” Dick announced, while Apollo floated above his bed, hanging the paper crane mobile that he’d presented to Dick a few days before. Upon seeing it, Dick demanded that Apollo teach him too, and now Dick’s bed and night stand were absolutely covered in paper cranes, although he hadn’t strung them together yet. When he’d grown bored of making those, Apollo started giving him sudoku puzzles, but Dick had finished a book of them within a day. It was difficult occupying a bedridden boy whose preferred pastime was leaping off rooftops.

Apollo returned to the ground, the mobile in place. Dick made an appreciate grunt. “You’re barely stable,” Apollo urged him, not for the first time. “Your calf is still healing. And you haven’t walked in days, it’s going to be difficult.”

“It’ll only get worse, the longer I don’t try,” Dick insisted, unconsciously tugging one of Damian’s pillows closer. “I either try and walk with you, or I do it by myself, when you two aren’t around.”

“M and I aren’t opposed to 24/7 surveillance,” Apollo warned. 

Unfazed, Dick pushed, “After a month, you- well, un-augmented humans, like me- can lose up to 50% of our strength after only 4 weeks of bedrest. I know, I’ve seen Batman take bad enough hits to know what happens. Also, I’m _dying_. I can’t stay still like this for much longer. Please, Apollo.”

Apollo opened his mouth and then closed it. He’d noticed Dick pining in bed, fidgeting and growing drearier the longer he had to sit still. Besides, he was officially off the IV. Birds weren’t meant to be tethered. Finally, he sighed.

“Will you at least accept crutches?” Apollo asked, crossing his arms.

Dick beamed.

* * *

Apollo met Midnighter at the front door.

“Don’t be mad,” he warned M. Midnighter raised his eyebrows. And that’s when he noticed that, behind Apollo, Dick Grayson was clinging to the pull up bar that Midnighter had installed in the living room for his own purposes. The kid was successfully lifting himself up, but his face and shoulders shone with sweat, and Midnighter was already running through scenarios in which his stomach reopened or something internal ruptured or he fell on his still-healing leg.

Dick saw Midnighter and hung limp from the bar. “It’s not A’s fault!” Dick insisted. “I held a knife to his throat, he had no choice.” Even Apollo winced at the terrible excuse.

“You know, I spent days having to dress you and lug you around. You want to go back to that, kid?” Midnighter warned, striding over to where Dick hung. Midnighter lifted the hem of the shirt Dick was borrowing form Apollo to check his stomach for ruptured stitches and bleeding. Remarkably, there was none.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” Dick winked, releasing the bar and landing on his one good leg. He hopped once before Midnighter reached out to steady him. Dick snagged his crutches from where they rested nearby and Midnighter released him.

“Grayson, the fast you recover, the faster we can let you loose on the streets again. Don’t reinjure yourself,” Midnighter warned. Dick leaned on his crutches.

“I still won’t be much use if I recover and don’t have any of my strength back. I’m overdue for some physical therapy, you know.”

Midnighter chewed his lip. He glanced over at Apollo, who shrugged. After a pregnant pause, during which both Apollo and Dick were batting their eyes at Midnighter, Midnighter sighed. “Fine. You want physical therapy? We’ll start physical therapy. But you,” he thrust his finger into Dick’s chest. “Are going to be honest about your limits. And you’re not going to lie, because I can hear your vitals.”

Dick made a face. “Creepy. But fine. But I want to get in touch with Oracle. She’ll know upper arm exercises I can do. “

“You know, if the Bat Clan ends up on my front door,” Midnighter began, but Dick shook his head.

“They won’t. I don’t want to have that fight right now any more than you do. That being said, didja get my letter to Robin?”

Midnight sighed, again. His life lately felt like a series of sighs and puppy-dog eyes from some of the only people who could ever expect to get anywhere with him just by looking cute. “Yes. And I’ll contact Oracle for you. In the meantime, don’t break yourself.”

Dick grinned and hopped closer, pressing his face against Midnighter’s shoulder in an approximation of a hug, since he still clung to the crutches. Having learned by now their little bird’s need for physical touch, Midnighter didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Dick and briefly squeeze him close before releasing him.

Apollo _definitely_ snapped a picture.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little bird's physical therapy takes a turn.

“Dick. I sound like a broken record, but it bears repeating that you have done something unreasonable to your family and yourself. Come home. Also, tighten your form. It wouldn’t kill you to engage your core,” Barbara instructed while Dick laboriously lifted himself on Midnighter’s pullup bar… with a wheel chair strapped to his upper abdomen and calves.

“My core,” he ground out, sweat beading down the side of his face, “is so engaged. That it’s. Trying on. Wedding dresses.” He managed to bring his chin to the bar and he lowered himself with a grunt. As he did, he felt his stitches pull, but he ignored the spike of pain. “I shoulda known you’d be a task master.” Once the wheels were safely on the ground, he disengaged the break and rolled himself closer to the counter. He beamed at Barbara’s face from where it floated on the open laptop screen and she offered a small smile in return.

“You haven’t worked out in weeks. Muscle atrophy for someone with your level of athleticism only takes about two weeks. We’ll work on your legs once I’m sure your arms are back in shape. Also, again, come home,” she pleaded. “We’ve been searching for you for weeks.”

Dick wanted to offer some sort of reassurance, or at least an explanation as to why he preferred to hide in the extradimensional apartment of a morally dubious couple rather than return to the Manor and face _that_ level of scrutiny and activity, but the nagging pain in his stomach was itching and stinging and he quickly realized why when he pressed his hand to the healing wound. The fabric of his shirt was wet beneath Dick’s palm.

“Oh,” Dick said, wincing as he pulled away his hand. He’d really meant to keep the scene out of Babs’s line of vision, but his head was swimming and he lifted his hand too high and he knew she saw as soon as her eyes widened.

“Dick—Dick, are you… how all are you injured? Bruce said you had a run in with Deathstroke and an unknown, I knew about your leg, you didn’t tell me… what didn’t you tell me?”

Dick shrugged. Midnighter was going to be so mad. Apollo was going to feel bad. Maybe if he shoved a bunch of paper towels against it, it wouldn’t be noticeable. Or gauze. Gauze would probably be better. Did they have Neosporin somewhere?

He didn’t realize Babs had been calling his name until she did so for the fourth time.

“Yeah, Babs?” Dick asked, a little dazed.

“Dick, where are you bleeding?” Barbara repeated. She was leaning so close to the laptop it was as if she intended to leap through the camera to properly admonish him.

“Notta big deal. Got a little sword in my stomach, I think my stitches pulled during the pull ups. Shit happens.” Dick shrugged. Dick liked shrugging. Shrugging didn’t hurt so much. Babs looked disturbed. Why did—oh. “Not your fault,” Dick added, pleased with himself and his sensitivity to the needs of others.

She sat back and rubbed her temples. “You- you let me lecture you on exercising your core, when your core has a _hole_ in it?” She sounded calm. Too calm. That worried Dick.

“… basically?” Dick offered. There was a roll of paper towels close by. He reached for it, but his stomach protested and he hissed. “Nn. Ow.”

“You need Alfred,” Babs demanded. “Come home or so help me, Richard, I will wheel over there myself and drag you back.”

Dick leaned back and closed his eyes. Apollo and Midnighter went on errands. Hopefully those errands included more cereal. Dick would want cereal when his stomach stopped hemorrhaging.

“Babs,” Dick murmured, eyes still closed. “I gotta go. Gotta call M. Stitches need fixing. Same time tomorrow?”

The shouting that, that triggered made Dick wince. “Dick, don’t you dare hang up on me right now! I can enter your computer, track you with your location services. I will find you and bring you home.”

Dick nodded and he opened his eyes and leaned over. He gasped in pain as he closed the laptop with an unintentionally curt, “Talk to you soon, Babs.” Then he leaned back and let himself practice some of the meditative coping techniques Bruce used to force him to practice day in, day out when he was Robin. The pain was still present, but it was in the background as he drifted.

After what could have been minutes and what could have been hours, Dick was dragged back into the present by the sound of one of M’s doors materializing.

“Grayson, _what did you do_ ,” M snarled, dropping whatever he was holding with a rustle and a clatter. Dick, vaguely aware of the fresh sweat that was beading across his forehead, tilted his head to watch Midnighter stride over while Apollo disappeared into the nearest bathroom.

“Pull-ups,” Dick murmured, lips feeling dry. He tried to wet them, but his mouth was dry too. He gave up. He grunted in discomfort as M tugged at the restraints holding the wheelchair to Dick.

“Normally,” Midnighter muttered, pulling restraints off one by one. “I’d threaten to kill you. But it looks like you’re trying to die, and anything I do will just be icing to your masochistic cake.”  

“Mm,” Dick hummed. “Cake. Want cake.”

Apollo reemerged, first aid kit in tow. He crouched down in front of Dick, giving his knee a squeeze before gently peeling the shirt off and away from Dick’s stomach. Midnighter helped Apollo pull the shirt over Dick’s head, but the blood had soaked through enough that it was leaving red smudges where the damp fabric brushed Dick’s skin. Dick wrinkled his nose at the smell.

Once the shirt was off, Apollo cleaned Dick’s stomach with a wet, warm towel. It almost felt good, if not for the searing pain that followed each swipe of the rag over Dick’s heated flesh. Dick wiggled, but Midnighter had a firm grip on his shoulders, so he didn’t wiggle very far.

“I’ll have to redo the stitches. Little bird, do you want morphine?”

Dick made a face. “No. Tylenol’ll I took earlier will do it. Morphine’ll make me sick. Don’t want to be sick.”

“And we didn’t want you to fuck up your stomach,” Midnighter supplied helpfully. “Look where wants and wishes get us.”

“Nah nah nah,” Dick babbled in a poor imitation of Midnighter. “My name’s Midnighter and I like weather inappropriate coats. Also, I have a stick up my- oh.” Dick abruptly shut his mouth as Apollo slid the threaded needle into his skin just as Midnighter began rubbing his shoulders in deep, circular patterns.

“I’d threaten to disembowel you,” M offered, “but it looks like you got there all on your own.”

Dick wanted to reply, he did, but he was experiencing an uncomfortable sensory overload so instead he just squeezed his eyes shut and went back to that place inside of himself that Batman taught him to find.

A pat to his knee brought him back.

“All done,” Apollo murmured, smoothing the edges of the clear bandage with his thumb. “You’re going back to bed for a little while. In a couple of days, we can try dumbbells. No more pull ups for a while.”

Dick nodded and Midnighter released his shoulders to wheel him to bed.

“Really, Grayson,” Midnighter muttered. “You’re a terrible patient.” That made Dick grin, and he leaned his head back to wink at M.

“But I’m great company. Or you wouldn’t keep me around this long.”

Midnighter snorted, but didn’t disagree.

 

* * *

 

 

Slade knew Dick would eventually reach out to one of the redheads, so he’d been tracking all of them. His task was made easier by the former Titans. Roy and Kori were keeping frequent company. And Wally had returned to Harper’s side as well. It was Gordon that provided a challenge. She hid behind layers of software and encrypted communications. But Slade was wealthy, and fixated. When Dick made contact, Slade was there. Slade was listening.

And he’d done what Barbara had only threatened to do. He tracked Grayson by the laptop. Grayson may have been in another dimension, but tech was still tech, and hacking into the Door technology would take time, but it wasn’t impossible.

Slade wasn’t entirely sure why he needed so terribly badly to retrieve Dick. He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d drop him off at the Bats’ when he did retrieve him. Perhaps he felt responsible for Dick’s injuries; he always did carry a detrimental soft spot for the former Titans. Maybe he was regretful he didn’t track down Dick’s skewered body in time to cage the little bird for himself.

Or maybe Slade was bored.

The justification didn’t matter. He had a prey and a trail. Speculation could come later. For now, he would hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There had to eventually be a plot, right?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick dreams some more. Dick makes a request.

Dick was dreaming again. He knew he was dreaming, because he was nestled against Kory’s ample chest, her long legs tangled in his. Her fiery hair draped over his shoulders and trailed down the bed where they lay intertwined, warming him better than any space heater.

“I love you,” Dick hummed, nuzzling her neck. Kory giggled, but a weight settled against Dick’s back, and he stiffened.

“That’s how it’s going to be? _Stellina_ gets all the attention? Rude, _bello_ ,” Helena cooed, sliding a leg between Dick’s and laying a hand on his waist. Kory wiggled closer, smushing Dick between them so that she could lean over and peck Helena on the forehead.

Dick let out a low whine, and both women laughed, shaking his entire body.

“This is weird, I don’t like it,” Dick muttered into Kory’s skin. Kory brushed a hand through his hair and Helena pat his hip consolingly.

“This is what happens when you behave stupidly,” Helena offered. “You go back on the morphine and have dreams. You’re too much like the Bat, it’s not a good look.”

Dick tried to recoil, but there was nowhere for him to go as bracketed as he was. He sighed and went limp instead. “This isn’t bad,” he reasoned out loud. “The other dreams were nightmares. This isn’t.”

“Do not say that,” Kory admonished. “It could become a nightmare and then you will be left having said that.”

“My subconscious, my rules,” Dick insisted, twisting his torso lay an arm over Helena. Sharp pain exploded from his stomach and he cried out, curling into himself as he gasped.

He writhed for a time, trying to find a position that might bring some relief, and by the time he did Kory and Helena were gone. He blinked, and Bruce appeared.

Bruce lifted the comforter for Dick to crawl under, and Dick recognized the bed to have shifted into Bruce’s in the manor. But this wasn’t Bruce’s most recent bedding- this was the bedding that Bruce had when he first welcomed Dick into the manor. A whimper of relief escaped Dick as he burrowed close to Bruce, feeling all the world like a scared child in need of comfort. Bruce rubbed soothing circles into Dick’s back. Dick whimpered again when he shifted and felt his raw stomach protest.

“Come home,” Bruce murmured, lifting Dick’s chin so that Dick could receive the full weight of his concerned gaze. “Alfred needs to look at your stomach. We need to create an exercise program, proper physical therapy. This won’t suffice.”

“It will,” Dick whined. Bruce hadn’t known how to raise a child when he’d first taken in Dick. Bruce hadn’t allowed himself to be a child since he was eight himself. But he’d tried, and although it had been years since Dick was able to crawl to Bruce for comfort without shame, Dick slipped back into the role like he did his Nightwing persona: effortlessly.  

But, much like with Kory and Helena, it couldn’t last. When Dick opened his eyes again, he was sitting in a rolling chair at the Daily Planet, surrounded by clacking keyboards and office murmurs, punctuated with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Clark sat in the cubicle nearest to Dick, fully costumed, typing away.

“Clark, you’re wearing the wrong uniform,” Dick politely noted. Clark glanced over at him and smiled, the sort of infectious smile that was only Clark’s.

“This is who I am, Dick,” Clark said, still typing although he wasn’t watching his screen. “Even in the role of a civilian, I do what I do with cause, purpose. So, do you. I don’t know why you’re hiding.” Clark redirected his attention to his monitor while Dick huffed.

“I’m not hiding. I’m recovering,” Dick said, cupping his stomach where he knew his wound to be.

“But you’re not where you should be,” Clark said, still not looking up. “Go home. You’re a bat, you belong in the Manor. They miss you.”

“I’m writing,” Dick blurted. “To Damian. But I think he’s mad at me.”

“Probably,” Clark offered.

“Why isn’t he here?” Dick asked. “I’m on a morphine guilt trip. He should be here. Guilt tripping me. I’d bet I’d go home if I saw him here.” Dick looked around expectantly. Clark snorted.

“This is your lucid dream. If you wanted to see him, you would.”

“That’s not how lucid dreaming works,” Dick said, even as the scene before him melted into the blank whiteness that he was sickeningly familiar with from previous nightmares.

“I don’t want to be here,” Dick said.

“And you think I do?” Jason asked, crossing his arms. Dick winced.

“Hey, Little Wing. I think I want to wake up now.”

Jason shrugged. “You know a way to do that.”

And Dick did. He straightened his back and took a deep steadying breath before slamming his own fist into his stomach.

Pain ripped through Dick, and he scrambled in the covers. Two sets of hands held him down.

“Kid, what the _ever_ -living _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” M growled, as he steadied Dick’s legs. Apollo had Dick’s arms, but while Apollo was holding him, he was also glancing over Dick’s abdomen for any signs of blood or damage. Once Dick realized that he really was awake, and that he was inexplicably in bed between Apollo and Midnighter, he relaxed.

As soon as the two seemed convinced Dick would stay down, they released him and sat up, the comforter falling from their shoulders.

“Why ‘m I not in my bed?” Dick asked, wincing when he called their guestroom his. Neither seemed perturbed.

“Apollo went to check on you,” M explained, crossing his arms, “and found you thrashing and tangling a pair of headphones around your neck. How’s it feel to be a grown-ass adult who’s not allowed to have headphones?”

Dick stuck his tongue out at M.

“We brought you here to keep an eye on you. You started thrashing again, so we held you down until you woke. Do you mind…?” Apollo gestured to Dick’s stomach. Dick obediently hiked up his shirt and Apollo leaned in, gently pressing at the skin around Dick’s bandaging. Dick only winced a little.

“No new blood, it looks like you didn’t tear anything. That’s good.” Apollo sat up, stretched, and then stood from the bed. “I’m going to make myself tea. Do either of you want anything?”

M and Dick chorused their thanks, but no thanks. Once Apollo disappeared from the room, M settled back into bed and closed his eyes.

“You really committed to this nursemaid thing, didn’t you,” Dick teased, if only to alleviate the awkwardness of becoming so helpless that needed to be monitored.

“You really committed to this being injured thing,” M shot back without opening his eyes. “We give a shit, little bird. Take care of yourself. If you need us to change your meds, we will.”

Dick was silent for several moments. He almost thought M had fallen asleep, but his breathing wasn’t quite regular enough yet, so Dick tentatively murmured, “M?”

“Hm?” M hummed. Distantly, Dick could hear the kettle for Apollo’s tea.

“I know what would keep me still for a little while. Still enough to heal without reinjuring myself.”

Midnighter opened his eyes and trained them on Dick. “I’m listening.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You really think I’ll forgive you, just like that?” Damian huffed. “Tt. I’ve half a mind to run a sword through you myself.” He pointedly looked away from Dick.

Dick’s hands twitched from where they rested on his wheelchair. He wanted to reach out and grab Damian, pull him into a hug, cry his relief into Damian’s hair. Instead, he offered an apologetic smile.

“Even if A and M’s entertainment center is outfitted with more video games than even Bruce’s?”

Damian’s crossed arms shifted. He huffed again. He glanced sideways at Dick. Finally, he dropped his arms.

“That’s a bold claim,” Damian muttered. “I expect you to impress me.”

Dick grinned and gestured Damian to follow him as he rolled his chair into the living room. Damian followed, but not without a sharp glare over his shoulder, aimed at the two men who leaned against the kitchen counters. Then he returned his attention to Grayson and the respectable entertainment system that M and Apollo kept, mostly because Apollo’s hobbies shifted and flexed and it was just useful to have around.

“I don’t like this,” Midnighter said, watching as Dick turned on the television and gaming system. Damian was already peering into the windowed shelf at the physical copies of games stored there; he’d no doubt be satiated by the vaster digital options.

“Having an outsider here? We’ve had Dick here for weeks,” Apollo said, sipping from his mug of tea. “And besides, you’re the one who told Dick that he could have Damian over.”

“I don’t like the bats getting too close to the Door tech. Dick doesn’t bother with it, Dick has boundaries. I don’t trust the rest of them to have the same boundaries.”

Apollo shook his head. “No one has been able to hack into the Door tech yet, and you’ve been using it for ages. Even when godtech gets scattered, your Doors have been secure. Besides, I think the little one missed his big brother too much to worry about mapping the interdimensional portal that got him here.”

They watched as Dick and Damian began a game, Damian’s enthusiasm trumping any irritation or hurt he may have felt upon first seeing Dick. He laughed and shoved at Dick’s wheelchair. Dick ended up abandoning the wheelchair entirely, lowering himself down gently so that he could sit with Damian on the carpet, occasionally bumping Damian’s shoulder or fixing Damian’s waywardly styled hair.

“He needed this,” Apollo said. “This is okay. For once, think of the present moment and don’t worry about the possibilities.”

Midnighter huffed. “Fine. I dare someone to try, anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having awful cramps the other day, and I woke up from dreaming about those awful cramps to find that I'd tangled my phone's charging cord completely around my neck. 
> 
> Which is why this chapter is mostly Dick dreaming/walking up roughly. Also I just love cuddling. 
> 
> Also, I'm about to make some shit up about Door tech; forgive me, Wildstorm and DC aren't giving me enough canon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce misses his eldest. Meanwhile, Dick gets a surprise visitor.

Bruce wasn’t holding up well, and his stress was apparent. He reinstituted his harsh No Metahumans in Gotham rule, and he confronted both Superman and Wonder Woman over it when the two tried to cross city lines to speak to him. Even Hal descended from his off-planet duties to attempt to reach Bruce on behalf of the Justice League. But although Hal wasn’t a meta, he was Hal, and that attempt only ended in a brawl that led to Jim Gordon escorting Green Lantern out of the city himself. Even Selina, who valued her independence and was finnicky about staying in the Manor, essentially moved in to keep an eye and a comforting hand on Bruce as Bruce wrestled with his helplessness.

Damian didn’t understand it.

“I _told_ Father that Grayson is safe,” Damian griped, sipping on a milkshake, and dangling his feet over the edge of a building overseeing Robinson Park. He was in full costume, but Batman benched him from patrol shortly after Damian confirmed Dick’s whereabouts. “I don’t understand what he thinks he’s doing. I should be out there, with _him_. Not here with _you_.” Damian paused and then, in testament to his developing manners, he quickly added, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Kate murmured with a shrug. She too wore her uniform, and she’d been working her own case when she’d found Robin wandering on his own. She bought him a milkshake and they took to a rooftop to discuss what had the kid wandering outside on his own. Babysitting her cousins wasn’t her general MO, but she’d felt the absence of Dick, too, and family was family.

“I agree. That Grayson should be home, with us. Alfred is far more competent than who he’s with now. But… he’s secure. He’s comfortable. He’s choosing to stay…” Damian’s voice trailed off. When he remained silent, Kate put a hand on his shoulder and Damian looked up at her, eyebrows knitted. “Why would he choose them over us?”

Kate frowned. This was not her forte. Maggie would know what to say, but Kate didn’t. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.

“He didn’t, Robin. He didn’t choose them over you, or us, or Gotham. Nightwing’s resting. Maybe he’s just so used to taking care of everyone and everything that he needs a break. He’ll come home, though, he always does.”

Her words felt cheap, but they seemed to do the trick, because Damian leaned against her and fell back into silence, choosing to sip on his milkshake instead of speaking.

“Did you find out anything about the tech?” Kate asked, conversationally. She knew Batman was gnashing his teeth trying to reverse engineer a piece of technology he hadn’t been able to obtain yet. No doubt, Robin tried to snag a piece for him.

“It’s internal,” Damian murmured into his straw. “There’s not… there’s not a switch or anything. It’s the same has his combat computer and his healing factor. He’s basically a cyborg, Father’d have to dissect him to get to the technology. Grayson wasn’t forthcoming with information about it either.” Damian frowned. “Have you tried speaking to Father? You’ve known him all of your life.”

Kate barked out a laugh. “Sort of. Bruce and I had different childhoods. When his parents died, I was with mine, in Europe. When my mother died, Bruce was already on his way to creating Batman. Didn’t leave much time for us to brush up at Temple or anything. Selina’s probably our best bet here, I’ve heard she’s been around a lot more lately.”

Damian grunted. “Grayson will come back,” he decided out loud. “When he does, Father will too.”

* * *

 

Dick was alone in the house, for once. He hadn’t been left alone in a while. Not since the “headphone noose” incident, or since the “punched self in the stomach wound to wake up from an impending nightmare” incident. But, since seeing Damian, Dick was less restless both in sleep and while awake, and now that he was on the up-and-up, A and M didn’t feel the need to loom over him.

But more freedom didn’t mean he still didn’t get bored. He spent his morning practicing light stretches and some arm exercises, nothing that engaged his core too intensely. He also tried a few lunges, but his leg lit up with pain and he ended up doing a roll to break what would have otherwise been a fall. Still, he was getting to the point where he could walk around with only minimal help from walls and occasionally a cane. He was improving, just not at the rate he wanted.

Easing off the exercises, Dick sifted through the kitchen and ate various sugary things he found there. Afterwards, he tried watching TV. That led to him watching the news which made him anxious and itch to go out as Nightwing. He turned off the TV and tried to video chat Barbara. She didn’t pick up, so he tried Wally.

Wally answered immediately.

“Dude! Where have you been? I thought you were dead! I mean, Barry kept saying you were alive somewhere, but it’s hard to believe a guy with 0 evidence. What have you been up to? Gotham’s locked down, only Roy’s been in since you disappeared. What’s up?”

Wally was talking so fast that he was talking over himself, and Dick couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. In the background, he heard Roy shout, “Is that Dick?!” Then both boys were vying for space in front of the camera and Dick would have kept laughing but his stomach was seriously straining.

“Hey! Yeah, it’s me. I’m alive. A little beat up, but alive. I’ve just been... I guess between dimensions? I’m at a friend’s house.”

The other end was silent as Wally and Roy blinked at him.

“At a friend’s place,” Roy repeated.

“In between dimensions?” Wally finished.

Dick shrugged. “I don’t know how it works. I ended up getting in between Deathstroke and a contract and ended up here while I recovered, with Midnighter and his boyfriend. Now that I’m off morphine, though, I’m getting bored. How is everyone over there? How has Gotham been recently?”

Roy and Wally traded glances.

“Only Roy would know,” Wally said. “Like I said, Batman’s shut it down from all metas. Babs, Helena, and him are in a big fight over it because of Dinah. Barry and Hal went in to negotiate, got ejected.”

“I’ve gone in to see Waylon, but I haven’t stayed long,” Roy admitted. “Even Jason’s been warding me away.”

Dick frowned. “Why’s he keeping metas out? Damian’s been over, they know I’m fine. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Wally shrugged.

Roy muttered, “We all know how Bruce is. But you should come home soon.”

Dick bit his lip before sighing. “Okay. Yeah. Sounds like he’s going over the deep end. I’ll come home. M and Apollo should be home soon, I’ll talk to them. Listen, if you guys see Bruce-”

In his peripheral, Dick saw the beginnings of the orange swirl even as its strange hum filled the room. “Oh, that’s probably them now. I’ll see you guys soon, okay?”

Dick closed the laptop as Roy and Wally shouted their goodbyes. He grabbed his cane, knowing the two preferred when he used it, and rose to his feet, limping over to meet them at the Door.

Except Midnighter and Apollo didn’t step out of the door.

Except, it was Slade, dressed in his Ikon suit and mask, who stepped onto Apollo’s carpet, glancing around himself appraisingly. “You’ve got yourself a decent set-up here, Kid,” Slade said, tilting his head to presumably glance at Dick through the opaque white lens. “But it’s time to go.”

“Slade, what are you doing here?” Dick ground out, lifting his cane in both hands. It wasn’t long enough to be a bo staff, and it certainly wasn’t as handy as his escrima, but Dick was pressed for options.

Slade turned his full attention to Dick and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly unamused by Dick’s posturing. The door still swirled behind him.

“Cleaning up my mess. How’s the bite from my sword?”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “Sore.”

“And the gun wound?” Slade’s eye was still obscured by his mask, but Dick could tell from the small movements of his head that he was appraising Dick’s current state. Dick stood a little straighter.

“Inconvenient,” Dick shot back.

“Still mad at me?” Slade asked, tugging off his mask so that Dick could see his face. Slade’s eye was bright, focused. Dick frowned.

“You literally stabbed me!” he cried out, tossing his cane to lurch forward and punch Slade’s chest. Déjà vu hit him; he’d had this argument before. Fuck, maybe he was dreaming again. That’s what this was. There was no way Slade had door tech. Midnighter was the only one to use it. Dick was pretty sure he hadn’t ever even seen Apollo use it on his own.

Slade cocked an eyebrow and Dick shook his head. “Nope. I’m not having this argument again.”

Now Slade was furrowing his eyebrows, as if concerned, and that was too much for Dick. He gripped Slade’s shoulder for balance and lifted his right leg. He then slammed his fist into his right calf, expecting to jolt awake.

He didn’t. But he did cry out and slide to the ground in agony. “Fuck!” he groaned, as he curled up on himself, alighting his stomach too.

Slade crouched down and Dick peeked up at him. “Kid,” Slade murmured. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

With that, Slade scooped him up, and Dick wasn’t in any state to protest.

“Can I at least leave a note?” Dick ground out through his clenched jaw.

“No,” Slade said, taking him through the door, laptop and cane abandoned in the living room.

Not twenty minutes later, Midnighter and Apollo stepped through a door, arms laden with groceries.

“Hey, Little Bird!” M called, digging in a bag to pull out a cardboard box. “I found a family size box of that cereal you like, I figured this would-” he cut himself off when he saw the cane on the ground, smelled an unfamiliar cologne, and noticed scuff marks on the pale carpet.

“Grayson!” M called, setting the groceries on the ground to tear through the apartment. Apollo caught on as quickly as M, and he too began calling and searching for signs of Dick. When he saw the laptop, Apollo opened it, revealing Dick’s video chat history. He called the last number Dick had, less than an hour prior. It didn’t ring for long before a bewildered redhead appeared.

“You’re not Dick,” the redhead said. “Are you… M? No, Apollo. M wears black, yeah?”

Apollo furrowed his eyebrows. “Who are you?” He asked. “And where’s Dick?”

The redhead’s eyes widened in horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone through how the Batkids feel about Dick's absence, but I wanted to remind everyone that Dick is Bruce's eldest and he adores him. Also, Bruce is a control freak. Both are relevant Bruce Facts (tm).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all haven’t forgotten about this little project!

Slade threw Dick onto a bed. Dick bounced once and then yowled, curling in on himself although that did nothing to alleviate the pain.

“Toughen up,” Slade mused. “You’re the one who re-injured yourself. I worry about you, kid. You’re a danger to your own health.”

Dick shot him a glare, the effect mitigated by his pale and clammy complexion. “You _stabbed_ me!” Dick hissed. “You’re the only immediate danger to my health that I see!”

Slade pulled away his mask to level a pitying smile. “You drove a fist into a healing wound. And look, it’s bleeding. Who was callous enough to leave you alone like this? Disoriented and scared? Tell me, little bird, and I’ll go back and take care of them.”

Dick pressed a hand against his calf. When he pulled away, his hand was black with old blood.

“Don’t,” Dick murmured, suddenly light headed. “Don’t fucking touch them.”

Slade strode over and pressed a gloved hand against Dick’s forehead. “I can feel your fever through my uniform,” Slade cooed. “I’m going to change your dressing and get you some fever reducers, okay? You’ve had too much excitement for one day.”

Dick’s head swam. Slade was many things, but he was rarely saccharine. And if he was saccharine, he was threatening Dick’s life. A pitiful, feverish part of him longed for the comfort of Apollo or Midnighter’s presence. They may have taken Dick, but Dick could trust their intentions, and he wanted them near to make sense of what was happening. Slade was volatile and unpredictable, Dick was vulnerable and unsure. He whimpered audibly.

Slade shushed him and brushed Dick’s hair back from his sticky forehead. “Easy, boy.”

“Why?” Dick croaked. “Why are you doing this?”

Slade cocked his head. “I take responsibility for my actions, Dick. That contract became messy. I’m cleaning it up.”

Dick closed his eyes and murmured a soft, “fuck.”

* * *

 

Bruce’s fists shook. No, not shook, quivered. His entire body thrummed with barely controlled rage. Across the table from him, Midnighter and Apollo sat apparently calm and levelheaded despite the calamity.

Midnighter and Apollo. His son’s abductors. It would be so easy. To lunge across and aim for their throats. Both were metas, but Bruce had his belt. He could jam the computer in Midnighter’s brain. Apollo was a dangerous variable, but he operated on a limited battery. Bruce would need to force him to expend his reserves, and Bruce even considered how he could direct that energy expulsion towards Midnighter. Two birds.

Midnighter cleared his throat, forcing Bruce into the present, “I’ve already fought this fight. A million times, in a million different ways,” he murmured, voice thick. “I don’t want to fight you, Bat. I want to rip out the intestines of whoever stole my tech and feed it to them by punching a hole directly to their stomach.”

“Vulgar,” Bruce said, curling his lip. Somewhere in the Cave, water dripped.

“Creative,” Midnighter corrected, grinning. But the grin disappeared when he pulled a slip of cardstock from his coat. “This is the cologne we could pick up after he disappeared. Do you recognize it?”

Bruce took the slip and inhaled. His mouth twisted into something ugly and he stood, slamming his fist into the table so hard that Tim jumped in his seat. Damian crossed him arms.

“Deathstroke?” Bruce spat at Midnighter. “You let Deathstroke take my _son_?”

Selina stood, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce didn’t respond but to breathe heavily through his nose.

“We didn’t let shit happen!” Midnighter snapped back, lurching to his feet even as Apollo placed a hand on his lower back. “I found him half dead in an alleyway and sheltered him. This tech is not of this world, it’s next to impossible to replicate. If Dickstroke or whoever broke into my place, do you think your landscaping eyesore stood a goddamn chance?”

“You overstepped your bounds,” Bruce ground out. “You took my son and left him injured and in harm’s way. Whatever happens is on you.”

Midnighter allowed Apollo to pull him back into his seat. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Old Man. But you lost the high ground well before Grayson ended up in our care.”

Bruce opened his mouth to retort, but ear shattering gunshots rang in the cave. Bruce wildly turned to the source to see Jason, reloading his handgun, and leaning against a stalagmite.

“If you two are finished,” he murmured, helmet doing nothing to disguise his dripping disdain, “I’m going to fetch Dickiebird. Come or don’t. Demon brat, Replacement. Let’s go.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Todd,” Damian snapped, even as he scrambled to join Jason’s side. Tim followed shorty afterwards, casting a glance back at the rest.

“He’s right,” Tim said. “We’ve got to get Dick. We can talk blame when we’ve got him in the medbay.”

Bruce ground his teeth and curled his lip at Midnighter. “Fine. But you will abide by my rules. You will not kill, you will not act alone, and you will not take Nightwing again,” he snapped at Midnighter, leveling a glare at Apollo for good measure.

Midnighter grinned. “We’ll play it by ear. Door.”

* * *

 

“Do you need anything?” Slade asked Dick, while Dick glared forlornly outside of a window from where he sat in a plush chair.

“Where are we?” Dick asked, not for the first time. “It’s snowing. It’s June, why is it snowing?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Slade rumbled. Dick glanced over his shoulder. Slade was suiting up, which couldn’t possibly bode well.

“You haven’t used Door tech since you brought me here,” Dick noted, voice flat. “You can’t. You had a knock off and now you’ve stranded us somewhere. That’s what happened, right?”

Slade smirked. “So clever. You’re wasted on the Bat. The tech is temporarily out of commission, but we’re not stranded, kid. You forget the breadth of my resources. I’m going hunting. Refrain from self mutilation while I’m gone.”

Slade walked out the door, in uniform and armed only with his energy lance. Dick shuddered. Slade usually hunted with a rifle, he must be bored to go out without a proper weapon.

Dick turned his attention back to the window. They were tucked somewhere deep in a mountain range. There was snow, but the sky was clear and the sun was out in between intermittent, light snowfall. They were north, but not very far north. Canada?

His calf throbbed but he couldn’t even walk to find himself ice or pain killers. Slade wouldn’t provide a walking aid, and Dick was trying to reserve his strength, for an escape attempt. Slade’s imitation Door’s malfunction was inconvenient, but Slade seemed confident he could revive it. When he did, that’s when Dick would have his chance to make a clean getaway.

Idly, he wished he’d let M implant a tracker in his neck, like M requested. But at the time Dick shirked the invasive procedure. He didn’t think he’d ever want to summon M as if he were an on-call service. He didn’t want anything in his skin that could even be remotely used like a GPS, no matter M’s promises that it was a one-way connection.

Dick pressed his forehead against the cold window pane. He was homesick, but when he tried to picture home it wasn’t the Manor or even Bludhaven. It was leather and sunlight and a two bedroom apartment.

Dick sat back in his chair and sighed. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Slade’s worktable. The imitation Door device sat on the wood top, pulled apart for diagnostic testing. Dick pushed himself to his feet, grit his teeth, and limped towards the table. Slade could hunt while he was bored, Dick would tinker. He wasn’t optimistic that he’d be able to fix the tech, but at least it’d give him something to do. And maybe he had a spark of hope that godtech would attract godtech.

********

* * *

 

Clark scrunched his face. After several moments, the creases between his brows eased, but his frown deepened. “I don’t hear him,” Clark finally said. “And without a direction or general area, I can’t focus enough to listen for his heartbeat. I’m sorry.”

Bruce scowled but Jon wrapped a fist in his father’s cape.

“You tried,” Jon said.

“This is a waste of time,” Midnighter growled. “We have Apollo, we don’t need to go through your list of Superfriends to track Dick.”

Damian snapped, “Clearly you need help or you never would have come to us at all. You certainly didn’t when you first found him. Father, what about the speedsters? Have they found anything?”

Bruce’s gaze softened just a smidgen when he looked down at Damian. “Not yet. Both Flashes are covering ground, it shouldn’t be much longer before we receive an update.” Bruce turned his attention to Clark. “Thank you for your help. Let us know if anything changes.”

“Of course,” Clark murmured. Then, Clark’s features twisted up and he frowned. “Wait,” he murmured. “Wait, I think I- I heard something that sounded a bit like Dick.”

Batman surged forward, hands twitching at his sides as the urge to grab and shake Clark washed over him. “What? What did you hear?”

Clark blushed. “Er. I think I heard Dick say fuck?”

Midnighter grinned toothily. “Thatta boy.”


End file.
